Orange Miasma
by Faery Goddyss
Summary: Kenny sits and ponders of how he might want to kill his father. Oneshot.


**AN: **This is a oneshot based on emixoO's SP: macabre Kenny…which you can find on deviant art. It totally inspired the idea. XD  
**Warnings: **Swearing  
**Disclaimer: **South Park belongs to two of the most awesomest people in existence…unfortunately I don't seem to be named Matt Stone OR Trey Parker. :(

**...Orange Miasma**

He stared intently at his father's passed out face. The older McKormick had been asleep for the better part of the night. Having come in late from who knows where, but it was probably some bar. He had heard him come in at around four in the morning, and he had heard his mother rush out from her bedroom stopping her husband before he broke something.

There had been arguing, hushed on his mother's part, and drunken attempts at being quiet on his fathers. He had heard the smacks, the hits, and the falling into furniture and walls. But he hadn't been stupid enough to go investigate. He knew it wasn't his mother that was getting hit. And even if it had been…well it was of little concern to him.

Both his parents threw meaningful and painful punches. They slapped, bit, threw items…it could bad at times, and he had learned in his early years to ignore it and go about his own business. Those hands that caused so much pain never came near him, or his brother so he saw no reason to get involved and draw attention to himself.

Or that was the case until the other day. Now he was sporting a white patch over his left eye from the damage of having a pair of scissors heaved at him. It had been accident, of course, he had only gotten caught in the crossfire. His mother had been ranting to his father about holding a job…again, and in a not so random anger she grabbed the nearest thing to chuck at her husband. It just so happened to be a pair of scissors, blunt, but still scissors and he had just been walking between them to get to the bathroom.

There'd been screams, gasps, yelling…and there was blood and pain. Lots of blood and pain. He had stood there between his parents as they continued to their hysterics clamping his battered eye shut. It had hurt, it hurt a lot, but even so he had only muttered a single word of acknowledgement of the pain. "Ow," he had said quietly and had lifted his hand to slightly brush over his eye.

It stung, so he lowered it.

Though his parents never seemed to have any money, they always seemed to be able to afford his hospital bills so he had been rushed to the South Park Hospital. Now that he thought about, perhaps he was the reason his family was so poor. Perhaps all the money they DID earn went straight to his hospital fees.

In any case, having his eye hurt had caused a bit of a grudge to form inside him against his parents, especially his father who was the one that should have been hit. All he could think was that they should have been more careful. That yes, perhaps he _shouldn't _have walked between them while they were throwing insults at one another but that didn't excuse flinging sharp objects across the room.

Such was the reason he was currently fixing his sleeping father with such looks of contentment. It was a grudge. To be perfectly honest, he hated his father. It wasn't because he was poor. Not at all. Lack of money didn't mean you were any less of a person. He hated his father because the man was so…he felt the words at the tip of his tongue and he savored its intensity. "Pathetic," he said out loud, but still very quietly so as not to disturb his father.

That's what he was. The man was pathetic.

He had always thought that, but this was the first time he had voiced it. It sounded natural coming from his mouth, as there was no better word to describe the elder McKormick's way of life, his very being in fact.

But Kenny didn't want to sound ungrateful. He wasn't. He appreciated all the little things in his life, as complete shit as they tended to be. He was thankful for having a roof over his head even though it leaked constantly. He was thankful he had clothes to cover his back even if they were filled with moth holes and were rarely washed. He was thankful he had food to eat everyday even if that food consisted mostly of frozen waffles, ketchup packets and other random meals. And lastly, he was thankful for his friends. They got him through his days with their humor, and their idiocy about the world around them. They enabled him to laugh, to live really. Without them, he'd probably have gone crazy…

He was even thankful he was living, even though he tended to die every so often. At least he got to come back. He was allowed to beat death and one couldn't look _too _down on something as miraculous as that.

There was only one thing he could do without. One thing he wished God would catch him a break with. And that thing was his own flesh and blood, the deadbeat drunk in front of him. Not to discriminate, as he felt the same way about his mother.

Both of them, he imagined would be better off dead than alive. In fact…he pondered this for a moment as he continued to stare his father down. People were, in general, worth far more dead than they were alive. Except for him of course since he always came back. But even his own parents would bring in more money as they laid deceased in the ground then above it, wasting air.

Hmm…it wouldn't take much to bring that idea to an actuality. All he had to do was lean down and gently cover his fathers nose and mouth. Asphyxiation and all that. No one would really be the wiser, and no one would miss him. Well his mother might. For as much as they loathed each other, and beat each other…they oddly enough still seemed to love one another. Kenny did not understand it.

And suppose he didn't choose to cut off his dads air supply. There were other ways to kill a person. He could always take the same blunt pair of scissors that had cut him and drill it deep into his fathers heart. He'd take human biology, he knew where to stab to get the best results.

_Of course _that would result in a lot of questions. But they'd be easily answered.

Self defense, he'd claim.

And no one would think twice. Everyone knew his father was violent and unreasonable even when sober. True he had never laid a hand on his children, but such tendencies couldn't stay that way forever right? It was a tempting idea. Kenny wondered how it would feel. What would it feel like to force a piece of metal through another person? Would he meet resistance? Or would it be soft, an easy cut?

The temptation to try was starting to grow and perhaps he might have gone through with it in the next ten minutes if his father had not stirred awake from his sleep. Kenny's face remained passive as his father came too, looking like the groggy mess he was.

Stuart squinted slightly at the blurred world around him and waiting impatiently for it to clear. _Something _had woken him up, and he was none too pleased about it. As his vision slowly cleared he was able to make out a figure sitting still amongst the background of the living room. Who was that?

Slowly the blurriness gave way to actual shapes and forms and he stared into the eyes of his oldest son. He swallowed slowly and waited for Kenny to say something. But the boy never did. Rather, he continued to stare back at his father. Almost unblinkingly. It started to freak him out.

He shook his head slightly and raised his body up into a sitting position as he looked around. "Where's yer mother?" He asked tiredly and trying his best to feign nonchalance.

"Grocery shopping," Kenny replied smoothly.

"And yer brother?"

"Out with friends."

The older man snorted though he felt the rate of his heart increased. So he was alone. Alone with Kenny. Looking like that, looking at him with eyes that said he wanted to…he wasn't able to finish that sentence. Either way he grunted and shifted slightly.

"Don't just stand there, get me some water and something to take care of this damn headache!" He barked and was relieved to see that Kenny stood up and made his way into the kitchen, doing as he was told.

"Damn what's with that boy today?" he muttered to himself as he rubbed his head in aggravation.

Kenny soon returned with the commanded water and two small white pills. He set them in his fathers waiting hands and stood back to continue watching him. Just as Stuart was about to throw back the pills and the water he stopped just as they reached his mouth and eyed his son. Kenny was still looking at him with a level look and he suddenly didn't want to swallow the white pills anymore. Rather he placed them down on the small coffee table in front of the couch.

It looked as if Kenny was about to open his mouth and say something when the sound of the front door caught both their attentions. They watched together as Carol and Kevin came in the tiny rat hole house together, arguing about something. Kevin went past his brother and father without a word, but his face was seething with anger. Carol sighed in annoyance and cast a glance at the odd picture in front of her. Her husband half propped up on a couch and Kenny standing…no, _looming_ over him.

Before she could inquire about what the hell was with them she spotted the two pills and glass of water.

"Ugh, thank God!" She cried out and swiped up the pills, tossing them back in her throat with the help of a few chugs of water. "That kid was givin' me a goddamn headache!"

She didn't miss the look of horror in her husband's eyes, nor did she miss the surprised look in her son's.

"What is it?" She asked watching them.

Stuart turned his head slowly and stared at Kenny, his eyes widening. Kenny only shrugged and decided now was a good a time as any to disappear for awhile. He said nothing to his parents as he walked past them and left the house. He did make note though, at the sudden sound of crashing. And the loud frantic shouts coming from his father yelling, "throw 'em up now!"

His mother sounded angry and confused, even a tad frightened. As he jumped the few steps on the houses' poor excuse for a porch he heard his mother's response.

"Wha-why?! What's the matter!? Wha-what're you doin'?! Let go of my mouth Stuart!"

As Kenny started to walk down the street, he decided to head for Stan's place, he wondered if his father really thought he'd given him something poisonous. Where would he have gotten pills of that nature? Honestly…he shook his head, but he couldn't keep the grin from forming on his face.

It might be fun, and a little just revenge, if he could keep his parents on their toes with the notion that he might kill them if they weren't careful.

Killing his parents though?

What an absurd thought. At the same time a sudden picture flashed in his head. Of him, still wearing his white patch and a living room covered in blood.

Nah. He shook his head. He may have hated his parents, and he may find enjoyment in making them nervous with the way he acted around them. But he'd never actually _kill _them…at least he didn't think he would.

-**FG**


End file.
